


femme de feu

by starg1rl



Category: Original Work
Genre: Discussions of death, Gay Character, Implied Sexual Content, LGBTQ Themes, Lesbian Character, Multi, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Teen Angst, Underage Drinking, Useless Lesbians, but no character death, everyone is gay unless they're straight, i guess, i just wanted to put this somewhere, teens being punk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-25 23:42:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20920586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starg1rl/pseuds/starg1rl
Summary: Sisters Issy and Via are best friends until an unspeakable tragedy leaves them shattered and distant. Years later, when Issy's lost the map, she decides to find shelter in a now much cooler, punk rock, Via. But not everything is as it seems in Via's hedonistic lifestyle of drinking and black nail polish, and Issy's straight best friend, Louie, has been acting weird ever since Issy and her girlfriend broke up.Issy and Via are on the precipice of monumental change- but sometimes even sisterhood can't survive anything.





	1. i'd like to hold her (head underwater)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gay disaster original fic leggoooo
> 
> chapter title from "doin' time" by sublime.

VIA

I watch her walk down the garden pathway. Her hair is still pulled back in a bun, a pair of denim shorts over black leotard and tights. I can see she’s got sunburn on her shoulder from up here, from my bedroom window.

FADE IN: Issy Maddox, back from dance class.

Her creepy sister, Via, watches from above.

A beam of yellow light coming from the front door widens, then spreads, like ice melting on a table. My mother hurries out of the house, takes Issy’s bag, ushers her inside with the promise of crispy cheese pasta and big mugs of tea to slurp while reruns of Coronation Street blare on the TV.

Mum stopped bothering with trying to feed me after I went on that Buddhist starvation diet last summer. I basically only ate sunflower seeds and chamomile for a month, and I went down two entire cup sizes. 

It wasn’t anorexia. I think I was just bored. 

Nowadays, my dinner is usually cigarettes and marmite on toast. McDonald’s if I want it- if I go down about now, nine o clock, some div there’ll probably buy me chips. An ice cream sundae too, if I try hard enough. 

A sundae sounds pretty good about now, a strawberry one with extras syrup. I’m about to push open the window and swing myself onto the roof so I can shimmy down into the garden, but the sound of footsteps passing by my bedroom stops me.

The door swings open. It’s Issy, hair down and tousled now, washthings in hand.

“You want tea?” she asks.

The last time she made me a cup, we were probably waiting for the Wiggles to come on telly. I’ve got no idea why she’s doing this now. Maybe some of her weird older sister instincts kicked in. Also, there’s just no way she remembers how I like my tea.

He- James- used to make me tea. He knew not to make it too milky.

That’s stopped too. For obvious reasons.

“I’m good, thanks,” I say, cringing internally at how wary I sound. “Not thirsty at the moment.”

She sniffs and throws her towel over her shoulder. It’s a relief when I hear the water begin to run.

-

ISSY

We were both born with blonde hair.

I came first, she eighteen months later. Two golden girls, often mistaken for twins once we reached the toddling stage- which was partly due to the fact that Via was five kilograms at birth. 

Our parents named me Isolde, Issy for short- a callback to a long ago Welsh great grandfather that stood on rocky shores and kept the beaches shipwreck free. Technically, she should be Olivia, but I can’t remember the last time anyone called her that and kept their kneecaps. 

“If it’s V for Vendetta, then it’s V for Via.” she announced, age eight. 

“Don’t be daft, Olivia,” Dad admonished. “Your mother and I have never even let you watch that film.”

I’m the only true blonde left now- her hair ended up corkscrew curly and turned a grudging mousy brown by puberty, so she settled on shaving it all off when she was thirteen and letting it grow into a curly cap on the top of her head. My hair is feathery and stick-straight, too thin to do anything interesting with. I’m fairy floss. She’s liquorice candy. 

We used to have a brother.

His hair was blond, too.

-

VIA

I do this sometimes. Roll my own spliffs, use the nice colourful skins I’ve been saving, and try to blacken the inside of my body so I can feel as nasty and dirty as I do in my head. It’s a bit of a balancing act, really. The sorer my throat gets, the quieter the dread is, pounding the inside of my temples like a drum.

But today, nothing’s really happening. I’m just numb, and stoned as fuck. 

Cal wanders up to where I’m slumping moodily by the door of McDonald’s. I don’t really know him- friend of a friend and all that- but he’s got sort of nice dark hair and wild eyes. Proper little beard too- a real life college student, finishing his A-levels.

He’s one of the idiots that supplies me with regular fast food- any of them will, really, for a smoke and a little kiss on the cheek. It’s easy as. Lately, it’s been him buying me chips more often than not

I wouldn’t date him, though, if he asked me. I’m not that sort of person. Issy’s the opposite- she’s had girlfriends, a few, and her most recent one, Alice, dumped her over the phone a month ago. It meant that her insufferable friend Louie basically lived at our house for a week in an effort to comfort her. I could scarcely bear to breathe with the both of them moping around- she because of Alice, him because of Issy.

I don’t get how she doesn’t see that he’s in love with her. She’d blame it on being a useless lesbian, or something equally precious. I’d call it naivety. 

“Fancy an ice cream, princess?” Cal asks, crowding up to me. He smells like Lynx and dope. 

Licking my lips, I make sure to take my time to flick my eyes up at him. He isn’t so attractive up close, and I can see a cluster of blackheads forming around his nose. His scalp looks pink beneath his greasy hair.

Cal grins, reels me in with a tight grip around my bicep. “Wanna beg for it?” he growls. Hot breath blows across my face. 

I blow a neat column of nicotine right back. “I never beg


	2. aime-moi jusqu’à ce que les roses fanent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> issy is a lesbian disaster. that is all.
> 
> chapter title from "amour plastique" by videoclub.

ISSY

We’re in the cloakroom at dance when Louie thrusts his phone into my face. “Tag yourself as a position.” he demands. I squint at it from a distance of about three centimeters- it’s literally just an assortment of ballet positions with a weird title in comic sans. He’s the kind of dancer that’s into all the obscure memes. I just like watching videos of people doing fouette after fouette.

Huffing as I push a bit of lank fringe out of my eyes, I turn away from him. “Er, dunno, Lou. You choose for me.”

He flashes me an offended look. His cheeks are as red as apples despite his brown skin- we’ve just had a pretty violent stretch and strengthen class, and Kyra, our instructor, decided that she would tie weights around Louie’s arms for the duration of the class to “teach him the importance of the back muscles”.

Louie’s probably my best friend, ever. We’ve been dancing together for over ten years and ended up at the same secondary school, and I practically spent all of Year 7 at his house after James died that summer. He hasn’t grown out of the habit of stealing my Monster Munch yet, but he has grown out of his baby fat considerably. I watched him go from a twiggy little nerd into this big, handsome man in the span of a few years. We both have had to do a ridiculous amount of growing up.

Louie was the one that set me up with Alice, and he was the one to comfort me when she broke it off last month. 

Thinking about her puts an ache in my chest. I miss the way it felt when I was her girlfriend- the way that the sun seems to shine brighter when someone thinks you’re special. 

She thought I was special- Alice kissed me like I was special. Sometimes we would be sitting on my bed, and I’d be doing something mundane, like putting on mascara, and she’d inevitably lean forward and brush her lips against mine. Once, gently, if we had somewhere to be, and as many times as she wanted, as bruising as I’d let her, if we didn’t.

Music starts to play again from one of the studios, followed by the sharp sound of metal on wood- Saturday afternoon tap class has started. which means we should go if we want to catch the 4:30 bus and go to the chippy on the way. 

Even though he’s supposed to be packing his dance bag, Louie keeps sending me weird little looks out of the corner of his eye, giggling to himself.

“Could you stop twinkling at me?” I ask.

He smiles, easily, warmly, familiar as anything. “I’m not twinkling, you idiot. You’re just- you’re croise devant.”

Just hearing that triggers a sense memory impulse to point my feet and lift my arms. “I’m what?” I say instead. 

“The meme. You’re croise devant. It’s because you’re an Aquarius and an ambivert.” he says.

I shoulder my bag. “Riiight. And you are…?”

“Efface derriere, obviously.”

We link arms as we leave the studio. 

-

We’re standing in the shelter of the bus stop, me wearing his big cardigan to shield myself from the rain, burning our tongues on hot chips out of a greasy paper bag. Louie is French, and ridiculous, so we eat them soaked in vinegar, not tomato sauce. He claims that tomato sauce is an insult to the human palate.

“So what’s Via up to nowadays?” he asks, mouth full of potato. “I haven’t seen her in ages.”

I stiffen, remembering the godawful interaction I had with her last night. I just wanted to make her a cup of tea, and she acted like I’d offered her the rotting corpse of a large rat. 

Her expression is still seared into my eyelids. The incredulity, the way her eyes fluttered before she turned me away. How dare you, her eyes said.

We don’t talk anymore, but at least I thought we could melt the tension a little.

I know she cares about me. She’s my sister- plus, I’m sure she would’ve murdered me by now if she didn’t. Shanked me or something. But there’s love beneath the ice. 

Break it. I shove the last chip into Louie’s mouth, just to shut him up a little longer. “Nothing much,” I reply, acting the disapproving sister. “Mostly just monged out of her head.”

-

VIA

I’m not an idiot. I did actually go home last night.

Cal bought me a strawberry milkshake and small fries, and in exchange, I took him into a dark corner and let him do what he needed for all of fifteen minutes. My knickers stayed on, for the record. 

They call me a slut. I’m proper fit, I know I am, but I get more than food and sex out of the relationship I have with those boys. That kind of satiation runs deeper. The world isn’t all full of shadows, but god forbid Issy ever finds out what I do with my Saturday nights. She already thinks I’m off my head.

Mum and Dad care too- sort of. Ever since James, they’ve both just been… tired. Too tired for sleep or coffee to fix. There’s a mothers love, but then sometimes there’s just nothing. Nothing at all.

Mum’s actually in the kitchen when I go downstairs, peeling potatoes. I’m not sure where Dad is- it’s a Saturday evening, so he realistically should be at home, tuckering in for the night.

I help myself to a glass of mango juice from the fridge, pick up my big coat (denim, flannel, sheepswool- my most prized possession) from off the back of a chair and make to head out the back way. I’m supposed to be meeting Cal and his mate Rhys at McDonald’s. According to the text I received a few minutes ago, there’ll be vodka too, and I can never turn down an opportunity to get stupidly sozzled.

Just as I get a hand on the doorknob, Mum looks up from her potatoes “Where you going, then?” 

I swallow. “Out, Mum.” Swallow again. Her name feels foregin on my tongue. When was the last time we sat down and had an actual conversation?

Probably to ask me whether or not I knew what a funeral was, and if I wanted to go to my brother’s.

(Of course I knew what a funeral was- I was 9, not an idiot.)

(And I went to the fucking funeral. Obviously.)

“Out…” she seems to be sinking again. “It’s 5:30 on a Saturday. Where have you got to be?”

Fuck. Off.

“I was just gonna see some mates.” I turn the doorknob. “It’s not a big deal.”

Mum bites her lip, and it strikes me how much she looks like Issy when she does that. All that fairytale blonde hair, dulled with age, pulled back from a face sagging with loss. She’s got a vicious wrinkle between her eyebrows from a decade and a half of frowning.

I open the door and step into the chilly air. She doesn’t stop me this time, but I pause anyways and glance back up at the house before I step into the street, and-

Deja vu, Issy. She’s watching me from her bedroom window this time, and does a weird flappy thing with her hands, as if to ask “Where are you going?”

I put my thumb and forefinger together and make a gesture with my mouth, hoping that it’ll get the message across about my plans this Saturday night. Cal and his mate Rhys get skunk for me at a well cheap price.

She frowns and shakes her head at me. 

I don’t know why she’s suddenly decided to care.

-

The last dregs of sun are draining down into the horizon by the time I get to McDonalds. My mates are in there, probably with an ounce between them, but I take my time. No need to rush when I could watch the sky blush pink.

As much as I like sunsets, however, I can see Rhys frantically waving at me through the window. I only raise my eyebrows at him, but Cal is already there, a spliff hanging out the corner of his unsmiling mouth. I take a last look at the sky and open the door.

“Heya, Cal,” I say as I sit down. Looking over at Rhys, I give him a curt nod. “Rhys.” Cal slides arm around me. Gemma and Kate, two girls in torn jeans and dark lipstick, are there too, giggling as Rhys dribbles ketchup down his front. There’s a strawberry milkshake slowly condensating onto the table- I steal a sip.

Cal leans in close, until his nose is brushing the fine hairs above my ear. “Been too long, Vi.”

“Mm.” I slide my hand onto his thigh, squeeze once, and let go. “Didn’t I spend an hour with you here last night?”

He shakes his head, his hair falling into his eyes. It makes him look almost sheepish, softens the jagged edges a little. “I reckon it wasn’t enough.”

My heart twists. Idiots are easy business, but an attached idiot does me about as much good as a ticking bomb.

I’m about three seconds away from breaking Cal’s stupid heart when Kate looks up from her quarter pounder. “Er, can we help you?” she snaps at something over my shoulder. I turn around.

Issy is standing right there.


	3. the way it slowly changed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im enjoying writing this
> 
> chapter title from "forget her" by girl in red.

ISSY

It’s not like I could just let her keep sneaking out. Any James-related trauma aside, I’m pretty sure skunk kills your brain cells, and that’s my baby sister.

My baby sister, with a half-grown man hanging off her and an open altoids tin of skins sitting on the table. She’s looking at me like she’s going to kill me. 

She’s going to kill me. 

She puts an arm on the dude’s bicep. He unwinds himself from her, sticks a fresh joint behind his ear, and smirks at me in a way that makes my skin crawl. She’s got a short skirt on, and as she stands, his fingers linger on her bare thigh.

There’s two girls and a bloke sitting across the table, all with matching bored expressions and black nail polish. Even then, they all look kind of… normal. I guess I’d assumed that Via’s friends would be as terrifying as she is- but I’m pretty sure these guys are just goth.

The door squeaks when it opens.

“Did Mum send you?” she demands once we’re outside. The sunset behind me is a phenomenal light show, but her face is full of shadows.

It takes a moment for her question to register. “What? No.” I don’t think Mum noticed me leave. She’d taken her dinner with her into the lounge and was watching M.A.S.H. “She doesn’t know I’m here. She had the telly going.”

Via’s face twists. She doesn’t watch TV, at least not when I’m there. I guess this is where she is all those nights she’s not home. In a grotty McDonalds with all these grotty people. “Did Dad?”

Dad wasn’t home. I shake my head.

She’s biting her lip. “What do you want then?” Via asks finally. “You interrupted my dinner.” Pointedly, she looks back at the McDonald’s. That guy that had her arm around her notices through the window and gives her a little waggle with his fingers. The other guy, the one across the table, sees her too, and presses his face against the window to give himself a pig nose.

I shudder. “Who’s that you’re with anyways?” 

She smiles, her eyes cold. “Cal. Isn’t he a ride?”

“I dunno if I’m the right person to be asking, to be honest.”

Is she rolling her eyes? “Right. That whole thing.”

Coming here was a complete mistake. My stomach rolls with anger- tornado dyke, on the move. “You can say lesbian, Via, it’s not a dirty word.” I snap, and I half regret it when her mouth drops open in surprise.

“That’s not what I meant,” she mumbles. I can see a spot on her chin that looks red and scabby, like she’s been picking at it. She only does it because nobody’s told her not to- because I’ve never told her not to. That thought alone is enough to remind me about why I’m here in the first place.

I’m about to do it, to ask her to come home with me and raid the fridge for biscuits like we did when we were little, when she grabs my wrist. 

“Do you want a burger?” she asks. 

I shake my head. “Come home, Via. You’re never around anymore.”

Her grip tightens, just minutely. “Stay here with me.” Via insists. She’s practically whispering. Her green eyes are fiercely fixed on mine.

James had green eyes. 

Not olive. Not turquoise. Not emerald. Just green. 

And curly blond hair, lots of it. He grew it until it flopped about all over his face; Mum would practically have to hold him down when he needed a haircut. I used to like to wind it between my fingers. All that sunshine on the top of his head.

Fuck it. I’ll stay. At least this way I can see what this Cal guy is all about. 

-

VIA

I’m not sure why I asked Issy to stay. 

She just looked so upset with me, standing there in a white tennis skirt and her peaches-and-cream cheeks. It’s not like she doesn’t know that I’m a burnout, but I think it hurts her more to see my downfall play out in real time. 

Plus, what’s the harm in trying to get her to have a bit of fun? As far as I can tell, her entire social calendar is pretty much composed of either dancing or doing homework, both of which involve Louie and Louie alone. She’s such a genuine sadcase, and she doesn’t even know it. It's basically charity work, what I'm doing here.

After introductions (Cal seems vexed yet amused by the fact that she’s there), I buy Issy a McChicken, and she makes stilted conversation with Kate while Cal’s hand creeps further and further up my thigh. I have to keep pushing him away between sips of my milkshake. Rhys keeps looking at Issy with a dopey expression- I’ll have to remember to sort that out when I can. Lesbian isn't a dirty word, Issy, but when you're dealing with someone like Rhys, it's best to make things very, very clear.

Cal eventually gives up on his grope fest and pulls out his phone. It’s been buzzing nonstop for ages. He squints at the screen, then grins at me through his fringe. “D’you wanna go to a party, Vi?”

Issy is making some very expressive faces at me across the table, but I ignore her. “Party?” I ask. “What party?”

“Ed's got a free house tonight. He's asking us to supply the booze.”

Issy frowns. I smile, just barely, which is answer enough for him. He turns towards Gemme and Kate. “Up for some lifting tonight, girls?” Their faces split into cat-like grins, and we all make our way out of McDonald’s in record time. 

I hold Issy’s hand as we go, just to let her know everything’s fine- little sister guiding big.


	4. you're looking at me like i'm see through

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> any authorial intent perceived from this is bs stop assuming i have braincells
> 
> chapter title from "8" by billie eilish.

ISSY

I don’t realise that Cal meant _stealing alcohol_ until we’re actually standing in front of the alcohol section in Aldi. He looks alarmingly cool and collected, leaning against a shelf of tomato juice, waiting for the aisle to empty out. 

To say the least, I don’t trust him. He gropes Via like she’s a stress ball, and honestly, he just looks a bit like a pirate. It’s probably the wild hair and ear piercings. And the stripey red flannel unbuttoned to basically his belly button.

“Can we get to it yet?” Kate demands. Gemma shifts around beside her, chewing on her lip piercing. I’m still having difficulty discerning one from the other, but Gemma hasn’t made a peep since I’ve arrived. Kate seems to do the talking- all of it in an obnoxious, whiny voice.

And then there’s that guy, Rhys, who would basically be identical to Cal if he didn’t have a shaved head. So far, he’s just been trotting around after Cal with a jumbo box of McNuggets. There’s ketchup streaked down his tight black band shirt, and he’s got black eyeliner smudged around his eyes. He’s got nice eyes for a bloke. They’re very blue.

Cal takes his time replying. “All it good time, Katie-kins.” he drawls, eventually. Him and Via exchange a look, and they start snickering. She let go of my hand once Aldi was in sight, in favour of snuggling up beneath Cal’s sweaty armpit.

Kate huffs again, and Cal rolls his eyes at her. “Alright, woman, get on with it.” He pauses, looking at me up and down in a way that distinctly makes me feel like a piece of meat. “Take Vi’s sister with you.”

How does he not know my name? “Issy,” I sigh. “It’s Issy.”

Cal just shrugs with one shoulder, and before I know it, he, Via and Rhys are legging it to the dairy aisle while Gemma and Kate link arms with me, dragging me towards a threatening display of alcoholic beverages, none of which I really recognise.

“Look casual,” Gemma murmurs in my ear.

“D’you like Malibu?” Kate asks in my other.

I’m not really sure how to tell them that the only drinking I’ve done is that one time when Louie and I snuck beer out of his mum’s fridge. It tasted horrible and we didn’t really drink enough to get drunk, and we spent most of the night seeing who could do the grossest beer burps. 

On second thought, I just shouldn’t tell them that story at all. 

I try not to look like a complete idiot as Kate discreetly shoves several bottles of Malibu and Smirnoff into Gemma’s duffel bag. Even so, I can tell that I’m making some sort of dumb face, and it doesn’t help that Rhys is peeking through the shelves from the other side, egging us on and making police siren noises.

Via’s outside, lounging on a rail by the time we get out of there. She tuts, impressed, when Gemma holds open her bag to reveal the exorbitant amount of drink we just stole.

There’s a breeze tonight, and it bites through my hoodie with no problem. I shiver, despite trying not to, and Cal grabs me by the shoulders, slapping me a bit in a pantomime of warming me up. “You’ll be right, princess,” he says heartily. To the rest of the gang, he goes, “Ready to rumble?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” sulks Kate, shifting from one Dr Marten clad foot to the other. Gemma sighs in place of an actual comment. 

My phone buzzes. I pull it out as we walk. It’s texts from Louie.

_Ma cherie_

_My bff_

_Bitch where the ffuck are you i am in your room and you are not here waht the fuck_

Louie's texting has never really been that eloquent. I look up from my phone. Via’s just ahead of me, detached from Cal this time, swinging her arms in that big denim jacket of hers. I don’t think I can tell Louie about what I’m doing tonight- at least not yet. He’d ring me a billion times and insist on picking me up from the party himself. And then he’d probably ask Via for her autograph. (He's weirdly obsessed with her, which is hilarious, considering she actively avoids him whenever he's around). (Maybe that's _why_ he's obsessed with her.)

Either way, I’ve got to reply. _how r u in my room louie_

_HAHAH back door was uncocked so I just walked in!_

_Omg I meant *unLOCKED I know you don’t like cock_

I roll my eyes. I love how we’re so close that we feel comfortable enought o just walk into each other’s houses (and discuss each other's genital preferences), but it’s really inconvenient at present moment. _i have a thing on with my cousins_

_Oh ok :(_

_gtg. lov u loulou <3_

_Whatever. xx._

I’ve never lied to Louie before. 

Then again, I’ve never decided to go to a party to get drunk with my estranged little sister, either.

But for now, it's enough to follow her down this street, just to make sure that she'll be okay for the night.


End file.
